All the Myriad Ways
by Carnivorous Moogle
Summary: and the people who take them. (askbox gift anthology from tumblr)
1. Maybe a Little

**Mark/Nine, for theloriengarde on tumblr.**

* * *

Sometimes, Mark looks back and thinks about his life and his choices, and where they've lead him.

Namely, the narrow, creaky, shitty-motel bed to which he is currently pinned by and angry asian alien, in what started as the fight they've been building up to since Nine introduced himself

_(So this is the asshole, huh?)_

and which has now taken on an entirely different layer of tension.

"Dude," he says, as he tries and fails not to stare into Nine's dark eyes (which, thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice, probably because he is staring at Mark's mouth). "I think this might be kinda gay."

Nine scoffs. "Psh, nah," he says, and then he kisses him (and tastes like the cigarettes he's tried a few times before), and again, and again, and lingers. "Okay," Nine mumbles, breath ghosting over Mark's jaw. "Okay, maybe just a little," and then words are lost in teeth and tongues and fighting for dominance.

And if there's one thing Mark is thankful for about life on the run, it's that he's learned to always keep the door locked.


	2. Candles

**Six/Four, for yes-im-a-demigod on tumblr.**

* * *

"Who are the candles for, Mom?" pipes the voice of her daughter, Sammy.

Maren glances down at her, strokes her soft, dark hair as she wonders how to explain what she'd thought her little one already knew. "They're... for everyone we lost, during the-"

Sammy cuts her off, impatient. "No, I know _what_ they're for," she says, in a tone that reminds Maren achingly of her father's. "Who are yours for, and Dad's?"

John says nothing, simply sits on the grassy knoll and holds the two of them as tiny lights flicker from distant hilltops. He holds a candle carefully in each hand, as Maren does, and watches the flames dance.

Maren hesitates, and then decides it can't do any harm. "They're for our cepâns, Katarina and Henri. And... for other people who are-were-are-special to us." It's an effort to say their names, but they deserve to be remembered as much as anyone. "Sarah," she says, her voice catching, "and-and Sam."

John's arms tighten almost imperceptibly, and he lets out a shuddering breath. He says nothing, still.

Sammy looks from one candle to the other, to the other, to the other, thoughtfully, and touches each of them in turn.

"Katarina and Henri," she says, her voice as strong as ever. "Sarah," she says, in clear-eyed and bright and unbroken honor of the dead, "and Sam."


	3. Hot Dogs

**Nive, for astralviolist on tumblr.**

* * *

"If you didn't bring any hot dogs I'll take a chunk out of your arm, I swear to god."

Nine is sprawled across the inner roof of their car, kicking his legs against what should be his headrest in a lazy rhythm that fray's Five's nerves.

Five, to his credit, doesn't look up from the roadmap. "I brought plenty of hot dogs," he says distractedly, trying to split his attention between the map, the road, and that damned relentless _bup bup bup_ sound. "And I'd like to see you try."

Seconds pass in silence.

"Fine," says Nine, and his upside-down grin is the only warning Fve gets before he drops off the roof and bites the inside of his elbow, hard.

"Jesus _christ!_" he yelps, and it's lucky they're on a wide empty interstate in the middle of nowhere because now the car is fishtailing out of control.

He manages to wrestle it back into driving a straight line again, and swears long and loud, finishing with "God _dammit,_ Nine, we could've just fucking died!"

He glares at Nine in the rearview mirror, and then catches his breath when Nine meets his gaze and soothes the bite with his tongue.

"Sorry, babe," Nine says, and his attempt at a purr would be completely ridiculous if he wasn't licking tiny pinpricks of Five's blood from his teeth. "Let me make it up to you?"

They eventually make it to the campsite alive and in one piece, thoroughly disheveled and an hour late; and when Five goes to crack open the cooler, the first thing he notices is that he forgot to pack hot dogs.


	4. All Rivers Flow

Sirina, for gracedlings on tumblr.

* * *

Sometimes, the spirit of the lake was not lonely.

She could count those times on one hand. On, in fact, three fingers.

The spirit of earth and laughing wild things had filled up her days with joy; and the little child who had once fallen into her waters and emerged again with her swift guidance, whose solemn eyes had made the lake-spirit wonder whether she was not touched by some spirit, herself.

But the earth-spirit had been driven away by the roar and chop and burn of mankind, perhaps even killed, and the child had left when others of her kind had come to take her away.

The lake-spirit had been lonely ever since, surrounded by the steel and cement and endless rushing feet of the ones who had made her so.

Until, that is, the day that raindrops whispered across her shifting skin, and carried with them a whisper that said, _you are not alone._

Desperate with hope, the lake-spirit lifted her mists to the sky, asking after the one who spoke to her; and the storm-spirit spoke back, and told her of strength and majesty and open skies.

The humans huddled in their homes before the storm, and the rain went on for days as the lake-spirit spoke, and listened, and was no so lonely. But the clouds could not stay forever, and the storm-spirit went away, on wings of warm wind.

_Follow me,_ murmured the last of the raindrops as they mingled with the lake. _Come away, and follow me._ And the lake-spirit was afraid, for the world (so she'd heard) was big, big, big; but she delved beneath the earth (wondered if the earth-spirit was there, still, wondered but could not look back), and found the rivers, and followed them to sea.

And the rains came for her, the thundered roared with joy, the wind danced with wild delight; and as the waves of the new spirit of the sea rolled and hissed and crashed in harmony with the storm, she knew that loneliness would never touch her again.


End file.
